Congeniality
by PutMoneyInThyPurse
Summary: On the flight back from 'Rack', Scotty upgrades them to first class.


AN: The first of many neglected fics in my sentbox. Trying to get all out of the way so I can quit with relatively few regrets.

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"Attention all passengers. Flight 78 to Buenos Aires now boarding at Gate 3…"

The line's pretty short, and Scotty's glad of it; he'll be happy to see the last of Madrid. He supposes it'll change with time, but right now if he never sees the city again it'll be too soon for him.

Kelly's at his side, smiling and flirting with some passing chick or other, for all intents and purposes his old self. Only Scotty notices the way he leans a little heavily on the baggage cart, though he'd cut his tongue out before he'd mention it.

There is one thing, though, he thinks as he scans the check-in counters, and if he… There. He catches the eye of the pretty, dark-skinned girl ticketing agent, and she catches his, and smiles.

"Herman," Scotty nudges Kelly.

"Hm?" Kelly's drooping a little, head down between his shoulders, elbows on the cart handle, and no wonder, after everything. He can't wait to pack him off to Oregon for some R&R.

"Bathing beauty at ten o'clock," Scotty murmurs, waiting for Kelly to follow his gaze and take in the girl's looks. "Now how about you go find yourself a nice plastic chair somewhere and partake of a little liquid refreshment, give ol' Don Juan here a fighting chance?"

"Now that is truly an excellent suggestion." Kelly lifts himself up off the cart with a tired, bright grin. "Never let it be said that yours truly stood between Alexander Scott and congenial companionship on the flight."

Scotty frowns slightly as Kelly ambles off. It's nearing the two-month mark, almost to the day, after Kelly… after… after what happened. For all intents and purposes he's fine, but the little things catch at Scotty like threads snagging on a wire: the way he gets real tired real easy, needing to go to bed way earlier than he used to; the way he can't hold his liquor, one or two drinks his limit, even after being taken off the pain pills; the ever-present stiffness in the joints, like a much older man; the slight discomfort when he's seated with his back pressed up against a hard surface.

Scotty's confident Kelly'll be as good as new eventually, but Rome wasn't built in a day. That's why he's sent Kelly off to play somewhere while he takes care of stuff, because…

"Next, please!"

Scotty heads for the nearest available counter and fumbles in his pocket. "I'd like to upgrade us to first class, miss," he says hurriedly, checking out of the corner of his eye for Kelly – great, having a smoke way off at the other end of the concourse, sitting there looking out at the planes taking off and landing, his back to Scotty. "Can I make up the difference?

The clerk proves obliging and efficient, and Scotty is triumphant as he heads back to his partner, sitting quietly, gazing at the view. Scotty notices he's not in a chair, but is sitting on one of the low struts scattered here and there, like footstools. "Behold the power of animal magnetism!" he crows, brandishing the tickets. "Got us a free upgrade to first class!"

The way Kelly's eyes light up at the announcement prove to him that his suspicion was correct. His partner hides it well, though, only saying, "Milking innocent girls for favors? Now really, that is so beneath you, sir, I never dreamed you would stoop to vile and nefarious seduction merely to wrangle an upgrade out of a—" He makes a show of looking at the boarding passes and doing a double-take. "These are good seats."

"Right behind home plate," Scotty quips, palming them as they stroll to the boarding gate. "And I'll have you know that any first class seat is a good seat."

"You're excused, Lothario." Kelly waves a magnanimous hand, dropping his voice to a worldly whisper. "And did you obtain, my good sir, a promise of congenial companionship on the flight?"

"Yes, indeed," Scotty nods. "I sure did."

The seats are better than he'd hoped, wide and inviting, more so the early boarding privilege which means not having to stand in line with a convalescent who denies being any such thing. He helps Kelly off with his jacket, leaving him in one of the soft cotton shirts he's been favoring and which Scotty's been unobtrusively shoving to the front of his closet. "Window seat," he instructs. "Gotta give your ol' Romeo here room to maneuver, y'see, in case of a clandestine rendezvous."

"Shocking behavior, sir, simply shocking." Kelly eases down into the wide, soft seat, almost immediately stretching out, and Scotty feels something in his own body relax at seeing Kelly's healing joints relaxed, his limbs extended naturally, not scrunched up into an economy seat like a sardine in a tin. "I shall probably be obliged to inform your mother of the inexcusable…" He trails off in a yawn, and turns over onto his side.

Scotty knows he should protest, for form's sake, bluster and threaten perhaps. But before him is the reward for his little ruse, his dissembling, and he's unprepared for how much it warms him to see his partner indolently stretched out on his side in the first-class seat.

Scotty's not the King of Experience or anything, but he knows from welts. He knows that even after they're healed, got a nice little Saran Wrap of new skin over them like Kelly has, it takes much longer than two months – it'll be more than six, most likely – till Kelly's back feels _normal_ again. Especially when you start out with hardly any skin left, like poor ol' Kel. Sure, it seems healed, looks like a duck and quacks like a duck, but just try to sit for a few hours with your back pressed up against a chair. Itching, then burning, then flat-out hurt, and your clothes stick to the skin and peeling them off is a new kind of agony, they seem to take the skin with them, flaying you all over again.

Scotty smiles; seeing Kelly lying on his side like this erases his old worry whenever he thought about this ten-hour flight back to the States, what it could do to limbs savaged by the rack and skin ruined by the whip. _Not gonna happen. I'm just too good a Boy Scout. _He's real proud of himself, and real happy just to watch Kelly rest his sore joints and sensitive back. _Yeah. You just stretch out and relax, pal._

He reaches over and pulls gently on the back of Kelly's shirt so the fabric isn't touching the fragile new skin. "What?" Kelly mutters. Still tires too easily – he's already in a half-doze.

"Nothin'," Scotty says softly. "Now you just stay like that," he pats Kelly' shoulder, "while Sir Alexander seeks out fair damsels and new pastures on his trusty steed."

"Go for…" Kelly yawns again as Scotty slips a pillow under his neck; a silly little airline cushion, really, but every little helps. "Enjoy your… congenial companionship."

"That I shall, Horace," Scotty relaxes into his own seat, shaking out an airline blanket and spreading it softly over Kelly, making sure to keep it well away from his back. "That," he repeats, adjusting it with a final pat and leaning back, drinking in the sight of Kelly alive and comfortable and well-cared-for, "I certainly shall."

And he does.


End file.
